


Coke Machine Glow

by sequence_fairy



Category: Satan and Me (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 01:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14321520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: Lucifer's hands are gentle on her back, almost feather-light, like he's afraid to touch her, like she's fragile and might fly apart at a moment's notice. He never touches her so lightly, and in a moment of brilliant clarity, Natalie knows she's going to die.





	Coke Machine Glow

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't like that Natalie died alone, so I fixed that.

> _ 'You told me you loved me, that I'd never die alone  
> Hand over your heart, let's go home' _
> 
> \- Cold Desert, Kings of Leon

Natalie wakes up when Lucifer comes back inside. She doesn’t open her eyes, just listens to him moving quietly around the room. She hears him sigh and settle into the chair in the corner, and slits her eyes, so she can see him through her lashes. His profile is gilded by the red-orange glow of the neon vacancy sign in the parking lot. He shifts out of his human shell and Natalie watches some of the tension loosen in his shoulders, before he scrubs his palms across his face and then turns to look at her.

Lucifer's eyes glow in the dark of the motel room - her own personal nightlight, Natalie thinks, with a tired sort of almost laugh. Her chest squeezes, and she wills herself not to cough, wants to keep up the pretense that she's sleeping. She manages, just barely. Her lungs burn with the effort, but the breath she exhales is deceptively slow and easy.

Across the room, Lucifer watches her.

He blinks, slowly, and Natalie remembers that cats blink at you when they feel safe in your presence, that it means they love you, and trust you, and she wants to laugh again, thinking of Lucifer as a giant house cat. She doesn't manage to hold in the cough this time, and the fit leaves her wheezing desperately. She doesn’t hear Lucifer move, but the bed dips and he’s there.

Lucifer's hands are gentle on her back, almost feather-light, like he's afraid to touch her, like she's fragile and might fly apart at a moment's notice. He never touches her so lightly, and in a moment of brilliant clarity, Natalie knows she's going to die. The sharp inhale of realisation sets off another round of coughing. She grips Lucifer's robe, fingers white-knuckled in the fabric while his own hands flutter uselessly against her back. She wishes he would crush her to his chest, wants to feel the strength of his grip, of his arms around her, use him as a buttress against the weakness she feels in her limbs.

The coughing fit ends, and Natalie looks up at him blearily, the fever making everything soft around the edges, lending him an almost-hallowed glow. She blinks, long and slow, remembering her earlier notion about house cats, and this time, when she starts coughing again, she can’t stop. Black spots dance in front of her eyes, and she falls forward.

Lucifer catches her against his body, and after some time, Natalie manages to get the coughing under control. She breathes deeply, pulling air into her abused lungs, and sighs out the exhale.

“You need to rest,” Lucifer says, trying to maneuver her into lying down. His mouth is a grim line and exhaustion has settled into the corners of his eyes.

“‘M fine,” Natalie says, but her voice is barely a whisper.

“You are really not,” Lucifer argues. “Lie down, Natalie. Seriously, you need to sleep.” 

“Okay.” Natalie gives in, and settles down onto her pillow. “Will you stay?” she asks, eyes drifting closed. Natalie doesn’t see his answer, she’s already sinking into sleep, the fever’s hold sucking her down into the black. 

Lucifer stays. 

The night lengthens and the world goes deep and quiet around them. Natalie’s breathing is laboured and Lucifer can feel her heartbeat fluttering under the fingers he has wrapped around her wrist. Her hair spills over his thighs, and he does his best not to look at the blood drying in the corner of her mouth. Her skin is hot and dry to the touch, the fever raging beneath it. He wonders if she’s dreaming. He wonders what she’s dreaming. 

Time seems to slow, and Lucifer counts each of Natalie’s breaths, listens to the telltale crackle in her lungs, and wishes, futilely that there was something more that he could do. Her pulse is thready, weak and barely there. He feels her heart stumble, and start again. Natalie drags in a gasping breath and her eyes flutter, but she doesn’t properly wake. She’s clinging, but only barely. Lucifer imagines that the thread that binds her to this life is fraying, strand by strand. He feels the life go out of her, breath by laboured breath.

Her voice is a dreamy sigh. “Lucifer,” she breathes, and he holds his own breath. The moment hangs, and then she shivers and goes still, her fingers curling against his own.

Lucifer knows where she’s headed, and almost wishes he could still hear the voices - because then he might hear hers, in amongst the rest, instead of this God awful silence.

The sun rises, and in a dingy hotel room, with his fingers tangled in strawberry blonde hair, the devil cries.


End file.
